Page 79 of Boss Witch

So I can start trying to heal the harm my family inflicted.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like shit. Come on.” Though her tone was brusque, her kindness shocked him.

In the kitchen, there was fresh watermelon sliced on a plate, and she quickly made a couple of sandwiches then poured them both tall glasses of icy lemonade. He didn’t deserve such generosity from her, especially when he considered how many witches must’ve been traumatized because of his work. Sickness churned within him, mixed freely with self-­loathing, and he forced it down, along with the food. Every bite strengthened him and steadied him as they ate in silence.

“Thanks,” he said eventually.

“Did you fall apart without me or what?” Clem sounded more sarcastic than joking, but there was no cruelty.

It’s more than I merit.

“A little,” he admitted. “Didn’t help that my entire life has been based on an elaborate, toxic falsehood. A calling? Please. They did it for the money.”

“That is more honest,” Clem said. “But somewhere along the way, they decided to act like there’s a holy mission.”

“In the beginning we were witches,” Gavin said softly. “Vivimancers and neuromancers, mainly. And I won’t keep this dirty little secret any longer. We just need to figure out how to wield this information as a weapon.”

“And maybe the coup can be bloodless,” Clem said.

“It’s a long shot. But possibly other hunters feel as I do, and they’d be relieved to learn they can just…stop.” He’d long wondered where the money came from to sustain operations, and now, based on Grandad’s email, he had confirmation there was a seizure of assets involved whenever a witch was habituated as a mundane.

Such an innocuous word for what we do to them.

Now that Gavin was properly awake as a witch, he could imagine how it must feel. Even with mental adjustment, the former witches must live their lives with a constant sense of something being missing, a piece that had been permanently severed, leaving them incomplete.

“Do you have proof?” Clem asked then.

“I do, but you’ll need to volunteer your laptop. I left my mobile back at the flat. I’m sure they’re tracking me. The order might also be listening in, so it’s not safe to contact me in any fashion other than the email I used before.”

“Understood. Let me get my Lenovo. It’s upstairs.” Here, she hesitated. “You can come up if you want. The wards let you in without hesitation, so that means you’re not a threat. And I don’t have any secrets I’m hiding anymore, so you might as well.”

Gavin blinked, but he stood and followed her up the stairs, feeling slightly less wretched. Clem threw open the door to her bedroom, revealing a sunny white and yellow space. Just looking at it made him smile because it was bold and lovely, and it perfectly reflected the vibrant energy she carried with her. Now, he also sensed the quiver of magic that brightened the room, warming his skin nearly as tangible as a touch.

The furniture was pale wood, shaped with simple lines—­a chest of drawers matched with twin night tables framing a full-­size bed. There was also a little vanity with a lighted mirror where he imagined her sitting to fix her hair or apply lipstick. Even the linens were full of personality, covered in big pineapples. The comfortable quilt was rumpled, as if she’d straightened it in a hurry before rushing to work that morning. Her laptop sat open on the right-­hand table, snoozing, but a touch from her woke it up. She passed the computer over to him.

Gavin pulled up the email account where he’d stashed the images his grandad had sent and immediately saved them to the cloud. “What’s your email?” he asked.

“You already have it.” She didn’t seem to be joking, but he doubted that the business box was the only one she used.

“Your personal one.”

With a sigh, Clem reached over to input a different address in the email target line, and he breathed in her soft, sweet scent.Her body lotion smells like melon and pineapple. Her sheets have pineapples on them too.One of these days, he’d ask about that.

Once she entered her email address, he forwarded the photos, and Clem pulled out her phone to check them. It took her a bit to skim the images, but he registered the moment when she got the bits he’d already shared with her. Hearing it was one thing, seeing it written in faded, old-­fashioned script was another.

She let out a slow breath. “I believe you. So what’s the plan?”

“That’s what I’m here to figure out. With you.”

Chapter 25

Hours later, Clem and Gavin had discussed and discarded at least twenty possibilities.

Frustration built, and she knocked back the last of her iced tea, scouring her tired mind. In her overheated brain pan, the kernel of an idea popped, and Clem jumped to her feet, excitement pulsing through her.

Is this the perfect solution? Maybe.

“Seems like you’ve got something,” Gavin noted.

---